The Wistful Mirror
The rain falls in sheets of iron. It drums against the roof of the carriage, a relentless, metallic heartbeat that matches the thudding in your skull. You are not sleeping. You are watching the window. The glass is a warped mirror, reflecting your face back at you, distorted by the water and the soot. Your uniform is pressed, the brass buttons catching the dim light of the lamp. You look like a...
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